


Lunch

by antheia



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-10
Updated: 2005-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheia/pseuds/antheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I use two words of prison slang: a "fish" is a new prisoner and a "cellie" is a cellmate. I don't know where I'm going with this, but I'm sort of looking forward to finding out. Huge thanks to <a href="http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/"><b>packyrsuitcases</b></a>, who beta-ed this and who is an awesome cheerleader.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Lunch

**Author's Note:**

> I use two words of prison slang: a "fish" is a new prisoner and a "cellie" is a cellmate. I don't know where I'm going with this, but I'm sort of looking forward to finding out. Huge thanks to [](http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/profile)[**packyrsuitcases**](http://packyrsuitcases.livejournal.com/), who beta-ed this and who is an awesome cheerleader.

T-Bag strolled out of his cell, and glanced up at the fish on the second level. "Pretty, pretty, pretty," he licked his lips, letting his tongue linger a moment too long on his bottom lip. The kid was tall, and his features were sharp. His eyes darted around, seemingly trying to take everything in and figure the place out. He wasn't quite as green as some of the other new boys; there was something about this kid.

Bagwell glanced back at the bitch hanging onto his pocket; maybe it was time to trade up.

\--

"Not so bad, so far," Scofield said to himself, as he gave a look around, trying to gauge his position in the zoo. So far, prison was exactly what he'd expected.

"Hey, Fish. Whatchu doing?" Sucre called from inside the cell. This cellmate was something of a windfall. Having little to go on but old episodes of Oz, Michael had half expected a lascivious, middle-aged man would be waiting for him in his cell on arrival. Someone who made you cling to advice like, "Don't drop the soap"; but Sucre didn't seem the type.

Scofield glanced down to the main level. He had a birds-eye-view of Westmoreland's cell. Cute cat. Moving a few cells down, his eyes rested on exactly the kind of man he'd expected to find.

"Who's that?"

The Puerto Rican ambled out of their cell, and draped his arms over the railing, following Scofield's gaze to T-Bag, who was eyeballing the kid like he was lunch. "Theodore Bagwell; T-Bag. Watch yourself around him, Cellie, he ain't all there."

That much Michael had figured out for himself.

\--

Striding across the yard, shooting the shit with his cronies, T-Bag glanced up, and couldn't quite believe what he saw: Scofield, sitting on _his_ bleachers.

"Mmmmmm..., that's some good luck" he mumbled, and licked his lips as he started across the yard. Could be the fish had made a mistake.

Could be it didn't much matter.

\--

Michael had known that there were variables that were outside of his control. But watching T-Bag, who was rumored to be the son of a mongoloid woman raped by her own brother, stalk across the yard towards him like some mad hyena, he doubted himself. He’d planned for the possibility that he’d have a psychotic rapist for a cellmate, but he hadn’t given much thought to what he’d do about a psychotic rapist who was the leader of the White Supremacists and who, it seemed, had a crush on him.

As the older prisoner approached, it occurred to Scofield, for the first time, that he was out of his league.

 

 

[My Little Damn Table](http://www.livejournal.com/users/good_judgement/1859.html?mode=reply)  



End file.
